is a blog by Brendan
“Tuna Casserole
Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish
Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.”
Jean-Paul Sartre attempts to write a cookbook. Found via the Interconnected mini-links, which is great in direct proportion to your dorkiness. I think it’s awesome.
Why, I do believe I have inspired a NewsBruiser install! Hooray! Now the scary girl won’t come out of the TV and melt my face.
You know, Java is great until you have to design a user interface with it. Then again, I could say that about pretty much any language that isn’t PHP (which just delegates UI to HTML).
I plan on never designing a non-HTML UI, so it’s a good thing I know a fancy boy UI programmer already. I assume he works for pudding.
Okay, I have to concede that even if I don’t know what it means, “winglike alary processes” is a beautiful set of words. Winglike alary processes. It’s not a band name… maybe it’s a song name. It’s better than that, though. Accidental poetry.
Winglike alary processes.
The problem with doing research on any old thing that pops into your head, which I do, it’s neat, thanks to Google, is that you end up with sentences of which you understand maybe two words. To wit:
“Like myobatrachines, sooglossids have a ventrally incomplete cricoid ring, horizontal pupils, winglike alary processes on the hyoid, and a divided sphenethmoid. Amplexus is inguinal.”
From a page about Seychelle frogs. I mean, I understand “horizontal pupils” but that’s about it. As has been the case ever since I read Wuthering Heights, in high school and at gunpoint, I have this dark suspicion that the narrator is unreliable–that, in this case, the author of that page is just making up words to fuck with me (Kris Straub has actually done this). I mean, “sphenethmoid?”
Now somebody comment on my Livejournal feed explaining what that is, and how I’m dumb.
There’s this black stuff on a good long strip of the caulk around my tub, where it meets the tile walls. It is considerably stronger and smarter than me, and it never goes away. The last time it got this bad, I had to call building maintenance to have them strip up the caulk and put down new stuff; it was clean for a couple weeks, and then the black stuff started growing back.
This time, not wanting to be the guy who calls maintenance for every little problem, I took Maria’s offer of assistance and tried other solutions. We bought big strong scrub brushes. We used new and stronger kinds of tub cleaner. We tried a bleach-water solution. As a penultimate resort, we bought an evil yellow jug of ammonia, the only stuff that is guaranteed by science to kill mold and mildew.
Earlier today, I filled the tub with four gallons of hot water and two cups of pure toxic irritant and attacked it for an hour. I got almost all the tub and tile bright and clean, but the black stuff, untouched, just laughed at me with its thousands of tiny mouths.
I called maintenance. Everything tastes like ammonia now.
Oh, sure, Cody Powell may have a cool devlog and I don’t, but I know what it’s like to double-wield Covenant plasma rifles. Does he? Well, probably by later today he will. I’ve got nothing! My life is ruined!
What’s it’s like, incidentally, is that somebody thought up a way to make Covenant weapons useful.
As of today, there are 6.3 billion people on the planet. As of today, there are 8 billion pages in Google’s index. Draw your own silly, irrelevant conclusions!
Day Care Owner To Be Tried On Basis Of Creepy-Ass Mug Shot
Twenty-four hours ago at this time, I was still talking about the fact that I’d seen Bobby McFerrin and Savion Glover perform, live. Today, at this time, I own Halo 2.
I’d like to have Lisa, Flora, Allison and especially Ken (who turned me on to Halo in the first place) to play the latter with me; I don’t, as they are casualties of my own private diaspora. But I had Maria to go to the show with me, and DC to encounter there. I’ll have the Thursday Night Grandkids to kick my butt at Halo.
Sometimes I feel bad about marking time in my life by video games and concerts, but there are worse ways to do so.